


Kind of Blue

by rabidchild67



Series: A Mental Rebellion [4]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Light Bondage, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Prank Wars, Pranks and Practical Jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-25
Updated: 2012-09-25
Packaged: 2017-11-15 01:17:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/521554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter ups his game. Neal winds up very frustrated. Sequel to A Freudian Substitute.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kind of Blue

Neal answered the phone on the first ring. “Caffrey, White Collar.”

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Peter,” he purred, his voice immediately lowering a few octaves at the sound of his lover over the line. “When are you getting back from DC?”

Peter was at FBI Headquarters in Washington for a series of meetings and had been gone for two days already. Elizabeth was in San Francisco for a client event, and so Neal had been feeling a little lonely and restless without them. Sure, Moz and June were great company, but he longed for the intimacy and fulfillment he could only find in the Burkes’ bed.

“I have to stay for some follow meetings with the Assistant Director. I won’t get home until Friday night.”

Neal tried unsuccessfully to hide his disappointment. “Friday?” he complained, not liking the needy tone he thought he heard in his voice. “What am I supposed to do until then? I miss you – both. Elizabeth’s not home until Sunday.”

“I know, I miss you and El like – huh, you don’t even know.”

“I’ll bet I do know,” Neal said, a longing note in his voice. “I do, I really do.”

Peter loved to hear that he was so sorely missed. He smiled fondly. “Hey listen, Neal, I’ll make it up to you when I’m back, OK? Dinner, wine, the whole nine. Just…”

“What?”

There was a long pause as Peter considered. “It turns me on like you wouldn’t believe to think that you’re…missing me.”

“I’m fucking desperate, if you want to know the truth of it,” Neal admitted.

“I find that so, so sexy. Tell me you won’t…do anything about it.”

“What are you saying? You want me to save myself for you?”

“Well, yeah. Are you saying you wouldn’t?”

“I’m saying that the thought of your dick inside me is just about driving me to the edge right now, but if you want me to wait for you, then, yeah, I’ll do it.” He drew a shaking breath. “Yeah.”

Peter’s voice dropped to a murmur. “Aw, babe, that means so much to me. I promise I’ll make it worth your while. I - God, I want you so much right now. When I get home…”

The tone of Peter’s voice was almost too much for Neal; he had to physically stop himself from sticking his hand down his own pants.

The next days were near torture for Neal, but he bore them with a sense of anticipation he almost wished wouldn’t end. Almost.

On Wednesday morning, the drum-drum-drumming of the shower on his skin was enough to arouse him and he sighed as he resisted the urge to abuse himself, as the nuns in school called it. Luckily, he was working on cold case files at the office that were so boring they quashed every sexual thought within him.

On Thursday Neal woke early with a raging hard on he found himself rutting against the mattress, erotic dreams of Peter’s mouth fading too quickly. A cold shower barely brought it under control, and he didn’t know if he’d be better off in tight underwear or loose slacks for the day, so he opted for both. He was beginning to think the universe had lined itself up to torment him with provocative imagery on today of all days. When he left June's, a bus passed by featuring a fragrance ad with two comely young things staring lustfully out at him, all pouting lips and bare shoulders. Then he caught a glimpse of the Chrysler building in the taxi ride to the office, gleaming in the morning sun like a great skyscraping jizz dispenser. A produce truck featuring photos of enormous, dew-drenched peaches so reminded him of El’s sweet ass he thought he’d ruin his pants. Finally, adding insult to injury, that day wass Jones’ birthday lunch and he’d chosen Frau Helga’s Brauhaus, where a seemingly endless supply of steaming wursts, wieners and kielbasas paraded through the dining room before him. Neal ordered a salad.

By Friday afternoon he was a wreck, his hair in disarray because he was constantly combing his fingers through it for want of something to do with them besides…well, besides. And he was a ball of nervousness, shaking his right leg up and down to siphon off his pent up energy.

“You going down on someone, Neal?” Diana said to him as she passed his desk.

He looked up sharply. “What did you say?”

“I said are you coming down with something? You look pale and jumpy.”

“Oh, oh. No, just haven’t been sleeping well lately.” Just then, an incoming text made the mobile phone in his front pocket buzz and he practically jumped out of his skin. He fumbled for it, removing it from his pocket as quickly as he could, its tiny vibrations almost too much.

It was a message from Peter: Boarding my train. Can’t wait to see you. 

Neal hit reply, typed: Am going crazy for you. Don’t delay. Only once he’d hit send, it said: Am bowling craisins for you. Don’t delay. Fucking autocorrect.

Peter replied: LOL. Have you been waiting for me?

Neal typed: Just get here, but it went out Juice kept beer. WTF? He sent the text again, correctly this time. Apparently his thumbs were all thumbs today.

Peter replied: Steady, tiger :-P and Neal thought even the emoticon on Peter’s text was mocking him, with its lascivious little tongue sticking out at him. He practically whimpered at the thought of the filthy things he wanted Peter to do to him that night.

Neal rose from his desk. “Hey, Diana, I think I’m not feeling all that well, so I’ll just be heading out early if that’s OK?” He didn’t wait for her answer, grabbed his hat and jacket and headed for the elevators. He walked the six and a half miles back to June's in record time.

When Neal arrived home, June called him to join her on the patio where she offered him a cool drink and some welcome, distracting company. An hour passed, and then another, and when she finally had to leave for her dinner date, Neal almost felt like himself. He went upstairs to his apartment, stripped his clothes off and headed for the shower.

When he emerged, a cloud of fragrant steam accompanying him, it was to find Peter had arrived in the interim. Though he had imagined how cool he’d be in this moment many times over the last three days, it all went out the window as he caught sight of Peter, who was turning toward him after grabbing a beer from the fridge, about to say something. Neal surged forward, his lips finding Peter’s urgently, the kiss hard, rough, a high-pitched, desperate moan escaping from his throat. Peter’s back slammed into the fridge.

Peter threw his arms around Neal's neck, enjoying the onslaught of needy, squirmy, straining man in his arms. Soon he put his hands on Neal's chest, pushed him back a bit. “Breathe. I have to breathe sometime,” he kidded.

“Breathing’s for pussies,” Neal said, his eyes never leaving Peter’s mouth, and he kissed him again, another assault of tongue and teeth and lips. Neal's beard against Peter’s lips was scratching him raw and he loved it.

“OK,” Peter muttered between kisses. “OK.” Kiss. “OK.” And finally, “Neal!”

Neal pulled away, his eyes seemed unfocused, drunk with lust. “What?” He was panting a little.

“Did you wait for me like I asked?” Kiss.

Neal looked up at him through his lashes. “What do you think?” Kiss.

Peter began to move him towards the bed, keeping up the kisses the entire way, and when Neal's thighs hit the resistance of the bed, he broke off, slid Neal's robe down his shoulders and onto the floor, and laid him down on top of the covers. Peter stretched out beside him, still clothed, and began kissing him down his throat, his shoulders, his chest. Neal reached for Peter’s belt, but Peter moved his hand away. “Oh my sweet, sweet boy,” he cooed to Neal. “You waited for me, you waited and it means so much. I’m driving tonight. You just relax and enjoy it, OK?”

Neal nodded, closed his eyes and swallowed. Peter sat up and ran his hand down his throat, his chest, his stomach, hovering over but not touching Neal's engorged cock. Instead he took Neal's arms and raised them above his head, raining more kisses on his face and throat, shoulders and armpits. Neal relaxed into it, enjoying the attention, reveling in the feel of Peter’s mouth on his body, his every nerve ending singing in anticipation of what was to come. His eyes flew open as he felt a tug on his left wrist. Peter had produced a wide, soft cotton ribbon from somewhere and was securing his hand to the head board. “Peter, what the?”

Peter kissed him again. “Just thought we’d try something new is all. Relax, baby.” Neal nodded and closed his eyes again with a sigh, let Peter tie his other hand. He hummed with pleasure to have Peter’s hands on him, running down his shoulders, his sides, his hips and thighs…tying his ankles to the foot of the bed. “Hey,” he protested weakly, realizing now that he was completely immobilized, lying spread eagled on his own bed.

“Relax,” Peter repeated, sitting on the edge of the bed beside him and kissing him. He reached his hand down and finally – finally – ran his fingertips lightly up the underside of Neal's rigid cock. Neal closed his eyes and shuddered at Peter’s touch, a sigh escaping his lips, his hips thrusting upward for more friction.

Abruptly, Peter rose from the bed, straightened his tie and went to the couch and put the tv on.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m going to watch the game - the Yankees are playing the Red Sox tonight.”

“Ha-ha, very funny. Come back to bed.”

“Nah, I'm good over here."

“Come on, cut it out Peter. Peter!”

Peter flicked through the channels, an evil grin turning up the corners of his mouth. Realization slowly dawned on Neal. “This is for the pen thing, isn’t it?”

“Yep.”

“That was weeks ago. I thought you forgot about it.”

“Nope.”

“You are an evil son of a bitch, Peter, do you know that?”

“Yep."

“You’re just going to leave me here, like this?”

Peter looked back from the couch, smirked to see Neal's cock standing at attention like some sort of obscene, leaning tower of penis. “Yep. For a while.”

“Peter!”

Peter laughed, turned up the sound on the tv.

“Come on, Peter, at least cover me up. It’s cold in here.”

\----

Thank you for your time.


End file.
